Deja Entendu
by Lady Dray
Summary: Draco discovers something about himself, and struggles to come to terms with what it means. Harry is rushed into situations he isn't ready for, and it changes him forever. OotP&HBP don't exist. Slash HD


**A/N:** I would first like to say that this story is NOT a songfic. I was listening to my Deja Entendu CD (by Brand New) when I got the idea for the story, and decided to use the CD title and the song titles in tribute to that fact. Occasionally I may add a line or two from one of the songs that fit, but there is no way the plot even comes close to most of the lyrics. I do not own any of the material I may use from Brand New. I also do not own the characters in the story, and am merely borrowing them for a time. All Harry Potter names and locations belong to J.K. Rowling and WB.

I'm sinking like a stone in the sea...  
I'm burning like a bridge for your body... 

Chapter One: Tautou

Draco Malfoy was not in a good mood. He was having a decidedly horrible day, and the reasons behind it were worse (in his mind) than the day itself.

He didn't know how he had gotten himself into this predicament; however it had happened, here he was. He sighed and rubbed the heel of his palm into his closed eyes and let his body fall back against the headboard of his four-poster bed with a thump, quickly losing himself in his thoughts.

It had started before Draco had even realized what _it_ was, or what he was feeling could possibly mean. Despite all this he did know the event that had triggered the realization. He impatiently ran his fingers through his white-blonde hair, allowing his mind to drift back to that day... the day that had shaken his world in the most dreadful way (in his opinion) and launched his life in a completely different direction. 

_It had been a particularly long and stressful day, so Draco had decided to take a nice, long, relaxing bath before bed. Grabbing some clean boxers, his dressing gown, and his hairbrush, he exited his dorm, crossed the Slytherin common room, and made his way out into the corridors._

Walking quickly, he made his way towards the prefect's bathroom. He was glad he had decided to go at night; after hours even. That way he would be able to take as long of a bath as he wanted and not have to worry about being bothered.

Upon reaching the door he muttered the password ('squeaky clean') and continued inside, locking the room securely behind him.

He was halfway to the large pool-like bath when he saw something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

Someone was already in it.

Shocked, he dropped his bundle of clothes to the floor with a soft 'whump.'

When they didn't turn around Draco noticed that whoever it was appeared to be asleep. He was in the shallower end of the bath with his arms draped on the edges and his head was nodding forward slightly.

Edging closer, Draco was able to calm himself enough to take in the untidy black hair that somehow still managed to be messy despite the fact that it was weighed down with water.

There were round glasses setting on the floor near the side of the pool.

He had walked in on Harry Potter dozing in the tub. Suppressing the urge to laugh at the boy, he moved ever so slightly closer...

Potter still hadn't moved and judging by the severe lack of bubbles in the water he had been in there for quite some time. A nervous thought flitted through Draco's mind. Moving closer still, he was able to let out a sigh of relief— Potter's bangs were fluttering lightly as the boy breathed slowly; sinking in to a deeper sleep.

"Well," thought Draco, "He isn't dead then..." he added a "pity." to his thoughts in order to make up for having worried over Potter a moment before. "As if I care." He added for good measure.

He continued to watch the sleeping boy. He didn't know why he hadn't just turned to leave. He was oddly fascinated, watching his archenemy in such a vulnerable state.

Draco began to subconsciously notice how toned Harry's body was. He had always thought him to be on the scrawnier side under those awful, oversized clothes he often wore. This Quidditch Captain was anything but. His arms were muscular; but not overly so, and his stomach had all the makings of a six-pack to rival Draco's. Overall he had a sleek, elegant form which was only enhanced by the dark hair coupled with golden skin... and those eyes_, so green they put any impostor that described itself by the same color to shame—_

Draco suddenly realized along what lines he had been thinking. Disgusted with himself he quickly turned to leave, picking up his pile of clothes and his brush, secretly hoping Potter would drown in his sleep.

Unfortunately for Draco, as he was straightening up with his bundle in hand, he accidentally dropped the brush. It fell with a clatter that echoed off the stone walls harshly.

Harry awoke with a start, swallowing a great deal of water, and splashing a good deal more onto the floor around him. Choking, he turned around. When he realized who was there, (Draco had been caught with a 'deer-in-the-headlights' look plastered on his face) Harry's eyes widened comically.

"Malfoy! What the bloody hell _are you doing in here?!"_

Only able to stutter an incoherent answer, Draco blushed furiously and fell silent.

"GET OUT!!" Harry shouted at him.

Needing no further excuse, Draco turned on heel and bolted. Not paying attention to where he was running, he ended up near the Astronomy Tower before collapsing against the wall, gasping for breath and clutching a stitch in his side.

He realized too late that he had left not only his brush, but the clothes that he had dropped (again) in his haste to get as far from the bathroom as soon as possible. Giving them up as lost, he slowly made his way to his dorm, lost in befuddled thoughts the entire way. 

Draco sighed again. That had been the first week of their seventh year. They were now well into November, and he just _couldn't_ get Potter out of his head. He found himself staring at him in classes... in the Great Hall... anywhere he saw him.

Today had been especially bad (thus his terrible mood), because he had had nearly every class with the Gryffindor. Talk about bloody torture. There was nothing worse than trying to brew a potion while Snape was breathing down your neck when all that could pass through your mind was memories of sudsy water lazily dripping down bronzed skin that just went on for_ever_—

He knew Potter had noticed something was up. Draco had stopped most of his insults (fearing Potter would bring up his unfortunate peepshow; not to mention how he just didn't have the heart for it any longer...). He occasionally made some lackluster threats and pathetic taunts that were easily countered. Just to keep up appearances, mind. He had even stopped bothering Weasel and the Mudblood. Most of the time he would just stare at Harry blankly and remain silent.

It had taken him awhile to accept the fact that every insult he had ever said to Harry was his own messed up way of getting Potter's attention— of _flirting_ with him. He knew the truth about himself now. Ironic. The 'Slytherin Sex God' turning out to be a great bloody pouf. No wonder he hadn't ever _really_ enjoyed his escapades. Well, they had been enjoyable, he supposed, but it always had felt like something was missing. Now, he knew what that was. Now, he knew what he wanted.

He wanted Harry.

And he wanted him bad. 


End file.
